


Strands of Silver

by nameless_bliss



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec's POV, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Gray Hair Angst, Insecure Alec Lightwood, M/M, Magnus is a Good Husband, Marriage, Minor Self-esteem Issues, Supportive Magnus Bane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6498514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_bliss/pseuds/nameless_bliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s not much.  Just a few touches of gray. On anyone else, he’d think it looks distinguished. Hell, he’s always thought a little hint of silver in dark hair was pretty attractive. On anyone else, he’d probably think this hair looks kinda hot.<br/>But, of course, it’s not on anyone else. It’s on him."</p><p>Alec has a gray-induced bad hair day. Obviously, Magnus can't allow that. </p><p>Set over twenty years after "The Mortal Instruments" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strands of Silver

Alec holds the hair between finger and thumb. It’s small - barely even a full inch long - but it somehow still manages to catch the glint of the bathroom lights. The little spot of extra shine only serves to intensify the already blindingly bright color.

Gray.

He didn’t pluck it. That’s the one thing he has going for him right now. He didn’t pluck this hair out of his head. This gray hair. He noticed it resting on his shoulder as he brushed his teeth. It must have fallen out sometime after his shower. This gray hair. This _gray_ hair.

But he didn’t pluck it. He never plucks them. Ever since he found that first one, that first minuscule _nightmare_ staring at him just over his right ear all those years ago, that’s been his struggle. His first instinct had been to rip the traitorous hair right out of his head, and check every other strand on his head to make sure they weren’t thinking of turning on him too. But he’d stopped himself. Because even though it had become colorless and so horrifically _old,_ he wasn’t sure he could spare plucking hairs out of his head whenever he wanted. Because if they were going to start turning gray, maybe it wasn’t long before they started falling out. A gray hair could be dyed, colored, _fixed._ But a hair in the drain was gone forever. And he’d be damned if he was going to actively _contribute_ to his own baldness.

So he doesn’t pluck them. He never has. That first hair was, mercifully, an anomaly. One strand of silver in a thick forest of black, that had _stayed_ black for a few more years. He hadn’t really thought it was likely for his whole head to suddenly go white at thirty-two, but honestly, if anyone had the luck to go gray spectacularly prematurely, it was Alec Lightwood. To him, it’s genuinely surprising that his hair didn’t just give up on him entirely the day he turned thirty.

But now, officially straddling the line between early-and-mid-forties, it looks like his luck has finally run out.

All in all, it’s really not as bad as he thought it would be. The matching brushes of gray at each temple, the occasional flicker of something light buried in the rest of his dark hair, and that one fucking strand in his left eyebrow. It’s not much. Not even enough to be called salt-and-pepper. Just a few touches of gray. If he saw this hair on anyone else, he’d barely even think it’s enough to call it ‘graying’. On anyone else, he’d think it looks distinguished. Hell, he’s always thought a little hint of silver in dark hair was pretty attractive. On anyone else, he’d probably think this hair looks kinda hot.

But, of course, it’s _not_ on anyone else. It’s on him. These gray hairs are on _his_ head, blending so perfectly with the wrinkles on _his_ forehead and the crows feet around _his_ eyes.

Usually it doesn’t bother him too much. Honestly, it’s never bothered him as much as he’d spent his twenties fearing it would. Somehow, he’d gotten this image in his head of Magnus waking up one morning next to a shriveled old man, and suddenly realizing that he could do so much better than that. But that’s not how it is. Now, it seems _obvious,_ so much so that Alec doesn’t understand how he’d wasted so much time stressing over it. Because he’s never going to wake up and suddenly be an old man. He’s going to age, yes, but there’s no on/off switch for youth. It’s every day. He gets older every day. And the visual proof of that is so microscopically small. It’s not that his face will ever suddenly sag away, it’s that there’s a tiny bit more definition in the laugh lines around his mouth on Saturday than there was last Tuesday. It’s slow, and gradual, and… not that bad. And Magnus is with him for every single day of it. Magnus is seeing the same slow, gradual process that he is. Magnus knows. And Magnus understands. Yes, when Alec looks in the mirror, he can tell that he’s obviously not eighteen anymore. But… he’s _not_ eighteen anymore. He’s older. He can feel it. So it only makes sense that he should look it, too.

That being said, it’s not exactly _fun_ to find a gray hair sitting on his shoulder, just sitting there, blatantly _mocking_ him as he’s trying to get ready for the day.

He doesn’t notice how long he’s been staring at the hair until he notices Magnus noticing him. Their eyes meet for a moment in the mirror, Magnus holding his eyeliner, Alec holding his gray hair.

Alec looks away, clearing his throat like that might somehow hide what he’s been doing. He shakes the hair out of his hand, pointedly _not_ watching to see where it falls.

He means to reach into the cupboard behind the mirror to put away his toothpaste, but before he can really process what he’s doing, he’s leaning over the sink on his side of the counter. He runs his fingers through his hair. Maybe he’s trying to see if any other hairs want to fall out, to get it over with now so he doesn’t have the think about it the rest of the day. Or maybe he’s checking to see if the gray is spreading, like he can wipe it all away right now if just finds all the right spots. Slowly, his eyes roam from the silver hairs at his temples to the delicate lines and creases in his face.

It takes him almost a full minute to realize what he’s doing. Once he’s in control of his damn body again, he stops. And risks another glance over at Magnus.

He’s still watching Alec, one eyebrow raised in something resembling amusement. The eyeliner is still poised in his hand, and the makeup on his eyes is still incredibly mismatched. Then, he gets that little smile, that little Magnus smile that he’s reserved for Alec and no one else, for all these years.

Alec knows what Magnus is going to say before he even opens his mouth.

“Not bad for having two kids.”

Alec rolls his eyes hard enough to make his head hurt.

It’s what Magnus has been saying for _years_ now. Anytime Alec gives the slightest bit of consideration to his physical age. When he found that first gray hair. When he couldn’t get that wrinkle on his forehead to smooth away. When he’d gotten surprisingly drunk on his fortieth birthday and it had taken him over a full day to recover from the hangover. Alec knows he’s not eighteen anymore, but the moment he starts really _noticing_ that fact, Magnus is right there. With that little smile, and that dumb one-liner.

Alec’s never responded with anything less than mild annoyance, but that sure hasn’t stopped Magnus. But even if it’s a dumb line… it sure is a charming little smile.

But, still. “That joke was a lot funnier when I was twenty-five. Now it just reminds me that our kids are _adults,_ and I feel even older.”

Magnus’s smile twists up into a smirk as he expertly paints a perfect line onto his eyelid.

Alec runs his hands through his hair again. It’s partly to make sure it’s an acceptable style, and partly to officially put it out of his mind for the rest of the day. It was just one gray hair that had fallen out. That’s it. No need to suddenly have (another) mid-life crisis.

And with the ‘Stare at his face until panic sets in’ portion of his morning ritual finally finished, he figures it’s time to move on and get dressed. But first, he scoots himself a little further into Magnus’s space. Just far enough to reach out and brush his fingers through his hair, still down and damp from the shower. It’s Alec's last chance before an overwhelming amount of product and magic make it untouchable for the rest of the day. He tucks a lock of it over Magnus’s ear, and doesn’t miss the way Magnus’s head tilts ever-so-slightly into his touch. He wastes another moment appreciating his last view of Magnus’s bare chest (they’re both accustomed to getting ready in just their underwear). And when he notices Magnus doing the same to him, he laughs, before ducking out of the bathroom to put some clothes on.

By the time he’s buttoning up his shirt, he’s practically itching for a cup of coffee. He’s already had one today, and the extra craving must mean he didn’t sleep as well as he’d thought. It’s an intense enough need that he makes his way into the kitchen and pours himself a _generous_ mugful even though he’s just brushed his teeth and he knows it’ll taste like peppermint and suffering.

As he sets the carafe back down, he realizes that there’s still over half a pot left. He sighs out through his nose as he grimaces his way through a sip of toothpaste-flavored coffee.

Lately, this has been happening at least once a week. Alec makes coffee first thing in the morning. It’s always the very _first_ thing he does once he gets out of bed. And sometimes that means he isn’t awake enough to remember that they no longer have two teenage boys there to drain the pot as soon as he leaves the room. If Alec is still a little bleary by the time he reaches the kitchen, there’s about a fifty-fifty chance that he’ll make a full, family-sized pot on autopilot before he realizes that he and Magnus can barely get through _half_ of that on their own.

So now he’s had a freak-out about one gray hair, wasted half a pot of perfectly good coffee, _and_ he’s missing his kids.

And all before nine o’clock.

Perfect.

Great way to start the day.

He leans back against the counter, forcing down the coffee until he can’t taste toothpaste anymore (and then realizes that he’s going to want to brush his teeth again after this).

The way the loft is set up right now, he can see out into the living room from his place by the coffee pot. But he knows that might change soon. Magnus is getting restless, eager to redecorate, remodel, change _something_ in a big way. Alec knows he’s wanted to do it for a few months now, but he also knows why he’s been putting it off. The loft looks the way it’s looked for years now. The way it’s looked since Rafe and Max were kids. Yes, little things have changed _drastically_ in that time, but for the most part, this is the kids’ home. This is how it’s always looked.  And Magnus must be thinking that changing things now will erase some part of their stamp on the place. Which, to some extent, makes sense. But really, there’s no way they’d _ever_ be able to forget that the boys grew up here, not with the truly ridiculous amount of _stuff_ that’s still absolutely everywhere. Artwork, gifts, awards, and a small gallery’s-worth of photographs. There’s a picture on damn near every surface of the loft. Not only does his current coffee mug feature a collage of family photos, but there are even a couple taped to the coffee maker itself. He’s well aware that they’ve probably gone a tad overboard, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

However, it’s not exactly _helpful_ to him on this particular morning to glance down at the coffee maker and see a picture of himself from over fifteen years ago. From before the wrinkles. Before that first gray hair. Before _any_ of the gray hair-

The gray hair that he’s stopped thinking about for the day. He’s already made that decision. He’s definitely moved on for today. No more of that. Nope. Moving right along.

He takes another sip of coffee, the soothing ritual enough to make him feel more awake even before the caffeine can possibly have kicked in. He glances down at the mug…

And his free hand is combing through his hair again. Like his fingers can tell which strands are betraying him. Like he can _feel_ the gray against his skin.

It’s not bad.

It’s not that bad.

He knows that.

He  _knows_ it. 

So he doesn’t know why it’s hitting him so hard today.

It’s just a little touch of gray. A few wrinkles. He doesn’t look old. He really doesn’t. Because he _isn’t._ He’s middle-aged. That’s nothing. That’s fine. If Magnus were actually as young as he looks, Alec would still be an acceptable age for him.

Although, yes, they’re starting to reach the point where _some_ people get judgy seeing them together. He’s definitely noticed a few _looks_ when they’re out together. The kind of look where you can just tell that the person looking at them thinks something is wrong with the picture. Alec - older, business-like, and drab. And then Magnus - youthful, and so _loudly_ beautiful. He’s been able to tell that some people have seen the ring on his left hand and thought it makes more sense for Magnus to be some torrid affair, that Alec must be married to someone else, someone equally old and business-like and drab. It happens. Now and then, it happens.

But it’s not the norm yet. _Most_ people don’t give them a second thought. And they shouldn’t. Alec knows they shouldn’t. He looks fine. He doesn’t look too old. He isn’t too old to be with Magnus.

But for whatever reason, that’s not making it any easier to deal with this fucking gray hair.

It must be… stress. Or that he didn’t sleep well. Or that he didn’t talk to the kids yesterday. It’s something… else. Something external. Something unusual about today. It’s not him. He doesn’t care this much. He can’t. Because it’s not like he can spend the rest of the day tugging at his hair until it all falls right out of his scalp.

Just the thought is enough to make him stop touching his hair. He grips his mug tight in both hands, savoring the slight sting of the heat against his palms.

He’s fine. It’s just a weird morning. Just a rough morning. The rest of the day will be fine. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.

He’s just downing the last of his coffee when the bedroom door opens. Magnus has an early client meeting today, so he must have used a bit more magic than usual to speed up his morning routine. Normally he’d be working on his hair for at least another twenty minutes.

“Want some more coffee? I made extra,” Alec offers, setting his empty mug in the sink.

“Thank you, darling, but I don’t have time. I don’t know _why_ I let her talk me into meeting this early.”

“You sure? I could get a thermos or something. I don’t want to have to pour all this down the drain-”

He looks over to where Magnus scouring one of the bookshelves in the living room. He’s wearing silver pants that are incredibly tight (even by Magnus’s skewed definition of the word), and a complicated, flow-y shirt made of navy blue silk. He’s wearing even more jewelry than usual, and all of it is silver and sapphires. And his hair…

“Mags,” Alec chokes.

Magnus turns to look at him, eyebrows raised a little too high for his innocent expression to look sincere. “Hm?”

His hair is swept high, and the front of it falls back down onto his forehead. His bangs have been dyed. Peeking through his black hair, little streaks of color.

Silver.

“Magnus…” Alec tries to start again, but he doesn’t know what to say. His gut is roiling, like it can’t settle on one emotion for him to feel. “Wh- What’d you do?”

Magnus continues to fake ignorance, and looks dramatically confused. “I did my hair, Alexander.”

Alec can feel his face contort, like he’s trying to keep something in, but he doesn’t know what it is. “Why’d you… pick that color?”

Magnus looks at him like like he’s speaking gibberish. “I’m wearing silver pants.” He spreads his hands out at waist-height to show off that fact. “What am I supposed to do, _not_ have my hair match my outfit? Like some kind of _animal?”_

“Mags-” Alec still isn’t quite sure what he’s feeling, but he realizes that he’s blinking a little too hard, and his voice is unsteady.

Magnus takes a few steps toward him. Smiling that little smile. That little Alec-only smile. “Do you think it looks good?”

Alec closes his eyes and sputters out a sound that might be a laugh or a groan. Because he hates him. He absolutely fucking _hates_ him and he loves him so much he can’t remember how to breathe. Magnus has trapped him. Magnus has just trapped his poor husband like a tiny, defenseless bunny. Because he only has two options. He can say yes, and have to admit that a little streak of gray looks good in Magnus’s hair, and therefore it can’t be horrible in his own. Or he can continue his gray hair anxiety and be forced to tell Magnus that he looks anything short of _exquisite_ (which, after all these years, Alec knows for certain is completely impossible).

So he finds a third option. He holds out a hand, and tries to make sure that his smile doesn’t show how overwhelmed he is. “Come here,” he says gently, voice wavering.

Magnus’s smile widens into a full-fledged grin. He knows he’s won, even if Alec didn’t answer his question. He walks right over, immediately sealing his body to Alec’s and pressing him into the edge of the counter top.

The hand Alec had held out wraps around Magnus’s waist, wanting to grip the fabric of his shirt, but not willing to risk wrinkling his perfect outfit. His other hand comes up to cradle Magnus’s face, thumb brushing softly against his cheek.

The silver in his hair is even more striking from here. It catches the sunlight, glittering brighter than his sparkling eyeshadow. The contrast against the black of his hair is stunning, and artistic in that effortless way that only Magnus can achieve. And it looks…

“You look beautiful,” Alec says quietly, fighting the lump in his throat.

Magnus reaches up, and runs his fingers through Alec’s hair. Gently. Just enough to feel it. “So do you.”

Alec makes a small sound without meaning to. He leans down, but Magnus is already moving. Already tilting up his face toward Alec's. They meet halfway, lips already parted, arms already wrapped around each other. The kiss is gentle, and so unbearably sweet that Alec feels the threat of tears only get stronger.

They stay like that for a long time, sharing kisses with just the barest amount of contact. Lips barely brushing together. Breathing.

It feels like several minutes might have passed by the time Alec begrudgingly pulls back just far enough to speak. “Don’t want you to be late.”

Magnus moans, with more than a hint of petulance. “Never let me schedule a meeting this early again.”

“Deal.” Alec presses a soft kiss to his forehead, right next to a lock of silver hair. He looks at the dyed hair, then back down to Magnus’s eyes. “You’re a little shit.”

Magnus grins. “I know.”

Alec’s hand slips down from Magnus’s cheek, resting lightly against his neck instead. “I love you.”

“I know that, too.”

Alec gives a quiet chuckle, fighting the palpable surge of affection in his chest, and starts to disentangle himself.

But Magnus has other ideas. He leans in again, stealing one more quick kiss. “I love you, Alexander.” He smooths his thumb over the hair at Alec’s temple. “ _All_ of you. Always.”

Alec takes an unsteady breath, and smiles. “I know.” He gives Magnus’s waist a little shove. “Now get out of here. You look too amazing to waste it all on me. You need to go show off.”

Magnus smiles back at him, but looks reluctant to tear himself away. “I’m booked today. I’ll be home late.” He starts to head through the living room, gathering his things as he goes. When he’s halfway out the door, he turns back to Alec. The change in angle makes the light catch in his hair again. “Have a good day, angel.”

After a moment, Alec smiles. “I’m pretty sure I will.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You know when you make a [throwaway tumblr post](http://my-nameless-bliss.tumblr.com/post/142416785156) , and suddenly you've accidentally written a fic for it? Whoops. I strongly support Alec Lightwood getting to feel good about himself, and Magnus always being there to help.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear from you, either here or on [my tumblr blog](http://my-nameless-bliss.tumblr.com/).


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